Metaphor
by InsertStupidNameHere
Summary: The clown and the cross-dresser have a seriously complex relationship. Hesitant. Wavering. Unsure. Prideful. Stubborn. It's best to explain in metaphor. ONESHOT.


Two long-haired teens sulked inside their respective homes. This had been one of their biggest quarrels yet.

Theirs was an interesting relationship, to say the least.

For starters, no one could define it. Often times, they'd go at it like no tomorrow, leaving debris in the wake of their quarrels. But even so, they were only half-hearted. Each person was aware of how much the other's words stung them, and their pride caused them to come up with a witty retort of their own. Still, they didn't mean it. No, definitely not.

When he'd remark about her height, she would come back with a comment about his hair. He'd say something along the lines of her being "flat as a board", and she would question his masculinity. He called her insensitive. She called him fake. It continued on like this. This was the way it always had been.

Why? Why couldn't he stop the venom-tipped words that flew from his mouth, even though he meant none of it? This all was so strange. She made him so overwhelmed with such _emotions_ he couldn't identify when he was talking with her. So, he didn't know how to react. He lashed out, and continued to do it each time. He was aware that she was a strong girl. But, with each battle, her armor cracked. Her facade faltered. He knew he was the _only_ one who saw, though. He was the only one who paid such _painstaking_ attention to her every detail. And, he felt all the worse knowing he was the one who was slowly causing the secretly fragile doll to shatter.

What she hoped he didn't know was that after her stupid pride was finished making her say those things, she would go home. Sure, in public, she let things roll right off her back. But, when she was alone, everything he said would resurface. For whatever reason, it hurt a lot more coming from him. She had always known people had thought these things of her, but hearing it from him was like driving a knife into her core. Then, she would remember the things she had said to him, and the guilt only twisted the handle, driving it deeper. Did she make him feel this way? This hurt? No. She couldn't. It was obvious she wasn't... wait.

What were they exactly? They could never be classified as friends. Nor did they quite _hate_ each other.

* * *

A metaphor was used to classify their current social relationship. Do you remember hearing the saying "there's a fine line between love and hate."? In their situation, this was true. The line itself was as fine as spider's silk, and just as fragile.

Now, both teens walked this line, balancing between love and hate, never giving any clues as to which was their desire. They balanced it like a tightrope, never slipping. Never faltering. Never leaning in the slightest to either side. Which did they prefer?

Now, the line was blurring. The thread was weakening. They didn't have much time left until things fell apart.

* * *

Seeing that things were so hard to describe, both unknowingly used more metaphors to make sense of the situation.

Imagine this; two students stand on either side of a fire alarm. The small red box had "IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, BREAK GLASS" emblazoned on the front. The school was slowly being devoured by flames - metaphorically, of course.

The two students stood completely still. Never moving forward, and never stepping back. Now, both _wanted_ and felt it necessary to set off the alarm, yet neither wanted to _be_ the one to do so. They were both frightened at how the other might react. They were scared of the unknown. Still, they knew that if action wasn't taken quickly, the frail and almost nonexistent thing they had would be consumed by the fire.

Now, the same feelings were being experienced by the two long-haired teens we speak of. Both wanted to explore this unknown thing ahead of them. But, what if the other doesn't feel the same? There's that ugly pride again. Meanwhile, their "quarrels" were getting more and more hateful. More personal. More venomous. Still, no one wanted to start the conversation that needed to be had. No one wanted to pull the alarm, and invite the other to step with them into unknown.

* * *

This brings us back to the two sulking in their respective rooms. Each wanted nothing more to apologize. Guilt was eating away at them. She couldn't though. He couldn't either. They knew they could never swallow their pride now; it had grown so big that if they tried, they would choke. It seems like they're stuck. They have been for quite some time now. They each wanted to do more than apologize, actually. But, it scared them out of their minds to think that doing so may ruin the fragile friendship they already had.

* * *

She was so alone. She was miserable, remembering each stinging word with vivid detail. Both her words and his replayed in her mind, a constant reminder of all her mistakes. All her flaws. He had pointed most of them out. All but one, in fact. Her big, _stupid_ pride. He didn't have to point that out after all, it seems. She pointed it out herself, when she reacted that way.

The doorbell rang. Thinking it was her parents, she slowly got up and opened the door. The person there instead gave her a surprise. What was _he_ here for? He certainly wanted to only rub salt in the wound. She was about to close the door, when his hand stopped her.

"Rima." His eyes were pleading, not murderous. She opened the door again, warily. In a flurry of motion, he had captured her lips. She didn't even know what was happening until it was over. She was disbelievingly pulled into a warm embrace.

She had always thought she might break the glass around that alarm. That is, if she ever mustered up the courage and swallowed her monstrous pride. But no, she hasn't had time to do that. Instead, he had made an equally important move, handing her an invitation into this new and strange emotion she couldn't refuse.

She never thought that he would be the one to break the glass around her heart.

* * *

**Basically, a oneshot about how nobody wants to throw away their pride and make the first move, because they're scared of ruining their delicate friendship. Gosh, I have issues... Yeah, personal experience in here... Y'know how grade schoolers tease their crushes because they don't know if the other feels the same? Well, think of that, like super amplified.**

**I did this in a hurry, so if there are any errors, please let me know and I'll fix them. **

**I wrote this mainly for my own purposes, but reviews are still appreciated. :)**


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